Sunrise
by Lia Whyteleafe
Summary: Fingon makes the decision to protect his son by sending him away.


Sunrise

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything, but wish I did.**

**I just want to say a big thank you to Gwedhiel0117 for being my beta-reader. Thank you so much! You are fantastic.**

Fingon was unable to sleep. He lay on his side, staring at the window.

Ever since he had become High King and taken his father's place in Hithlum, he had been plagued by the same dream every night. And every night he had awoken with his heart pounding in his chest.

In the dream, Orcs were swarming through Hithlum, their swords stained with blood and their faces alight with glee. Their fangs gleamed red in torchlight. Fingon was forced to watch as Hithlum burned.

Then, the dream changed. Fingon saw a tall Elf in battle armour, wielding a long spear with a point that glimmered like ice. His hair – the colour of deepest ebony – whirled around as he moved, so Fingon was unable to see his face. Fingon was amazed at the way the strange Elf fought; the Orcs were unable to stand against him and the spear. This was a fearsome and unique warrior – much like Fingolfin.

At the thought of his father, Fingon felt a terrible ache in his chest. He missed Fingolfin so much. His father had always been there, a presence in his life he had never thought would be gone. Fingolfin's deep laugh, the quirk of his eyebrow as he smiled and the way he would give advice, care and comfort when it was most required were just some of the things Fingon loved most about his father.

Fingolfin would have been the first person Fingon turned to about the troubling dreams he was having.

The High King reluctantly closed his eyes, knowing the dream would come back. He was not disappointed.

This time, he noticed something different about the Elf. He was wearing a golden coronet similar to the one crafted for Fingon when he became King.

No... The coronets were not merely similar. They were identical.

Just then, the warrior spun around and stabbed an Orc with the spear, impaling him. Swiftly, he leaped forwards and dispatched two more with quick thrusts. Fingon had never seen anybody fight like that before. It was as though the spear was part of him.

For the first time, the warrior looked directly at Fingon. His eyes were as bright as two stars.

The High King sat bolt upright. Shock, recognition and realisation flooded his mind.

Dawn was becoming to appear through the window; a pale golden light streamed across the bed.

Carefully and quietly, so as not to wake his sleeping wife, Fingon rose from the bed; wrapping a robe around his shoulders, he stole from the room. His feet made no sound as he walked down the corridor towards the room next to the one he and his wife slept in. Fingon silently opened the door and entered the room. He walked up to the side of the small bed in the middle of the room and sat in the chair beside it.

Curled up under the warm blue cover was a small elfling, sleeping peacefully. Fingon reached out to smooth back some of the ebony-coloured wisps of hair from his son's face – then paused, fearing he might disturb Ereinion.

When his newborn son was placed in his arms, Fingon had wept out of wonder and happiness...and love. One look into those bright blue eyes and he was completely lost. Ereinion had grown into a playful and affectionate child, although not a mischievous one. In that respect, Fingon was glad his son had not taken after him.

The King watched as the light crept over his sleeping child. He wanted to protect Ereinion from everything that could harm him, yet he knew he could not. As the only child of the High King, Ereinion was precious; he was an heir to the Kingship of the Noldor – the only other heir being Turgon, Fingon's brother. And the child was even more precious to his father.

The King had a duty to protect his heir. But his duty as a father ran deeper than that. If keeping Ereinion safe meant sending him away from Hithlum, then so be it.

Fingon knew for certain he would not see his son grow into the warrior and the King he had seen in his dreams. Nor would he hear his son's childish laughter, or be able to hold him in his arms until he drifted off to sleep...

He blinked hard several times, and wiped away a few tears from his cheeks.

A soft rustle came from the bed; one strip of sunlight had fallen over Ereinion's face, stealing him from a dream. The elfling turned over in bed and yawned, stretching lazily; he sat up, blinking away the last remnants of sleep – and saw his father sitting beside his bed. Immediately, his eyes sparkled and he swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Before Ereinion's feet could touch the ground, Fingon caught him by the waist and swung him up into his arms. The elfling squealed with delight and wrapped his small arms around his father's neck. Fingon carried his son over to the window so he could see the dawn properly.

"Look," he said softly, "is it not beautiful?"

The elfling nodded, keeping his eyes on the blue sky and golden clouds. Fingon held him a little closer. He did not know how much longer he would have with his son – but he would spend as much time as he could with him. And he would treasure every moment.

... ... ...

Fingon sat at his writing desk, deep in thought. Where would be a safe place to send his son? Ereinion needed to be protected, and if Fingon's dreams were indeed prophetic then Hithlum would not be safe for anyone.

Perhaps the obvious choice of person to protect the young prince would be another member of the House of Finwë. Turgon and Orodreth were fathers, so they would know about raising children – and Turgon was Ereinion's uncle, after all. Maedhros had six younger brothers, but Fingon knew him well enough to say that he did not have a temperament suited to actually raising a child. Maglor, on the other hand...

Or Galadriel? She was just as good a choice as Fingon's male cousins. However, her husband was a kinsman of Thingol – and Fingon knew from what Angrod had told him that Thingol was far from kindly disposed towards the Noldor. Fingon was unsure whether Celeborn shared Thingol's views.

If Hithlum could be attacked and overrun, so could other Elven realms. If that was the case, Ereinion might not be any safer in Gondolin or Nargothrond than he was in Hithlum. Also, if you were going to hide one of your most precious treasures, you did not hide it where those seeking it were certain to look.

The frown on Fingon's face slowly cleared as a new idea came to him. Might not the Havens be a relatively safe place? He had only met the lord of the Falas, Círdan, on two occasions – and had immediately understood why this Elf was reputed to be one of the wisest Elves on Arda. His face was solemn, and his eyes showed a deep wisdom and strength. He was one of the Elves who awoke near Cuiviénien; that alone was enough to win a deep respect from many, including Fingon himself.

The King knew that if any Elf could teach Ereinion the wisdom he needed to be King, it was Círdan.

Fingon took a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill, and began to draft the beginnings of a letter.

... ... ...

He had not expected Círdan to arrive in person. The silver-haired Elf-lord and his entourage had stayed the night at Hithlum. Despite himself, Fingon couldn't help but be awed by Círdan – and Ereinion had been visibly shy of him. Being aware of this, Círdan had deliberately spoken to the elfling at the evening meal; Ereinion had gradually opened up and relaxed more in his presence. Yet there had been an undercurrent of sorrow at the meal, which the conversation had been unable to disperse.

Of course Ereinion knew that Círdan would be taking him back to the Havens. His parents had explained it to him before Círdan arrived. Fingon knew his son was deeply upset, yet the young prince was determined not to let it show.

Fingon did not sleep at all that night. He merely held his wife close until her tears dried and she drifted away into sleep, then he spent the whole night staring out of the window until the sun rose. It was a beautiful dawn: pink and lilac clouds framed the sun against an ice-blue sky.

... ... ...

The last remnants of the sunrise were slowly fading into the sky. Outside Hithlum, Ereinion nestled into his mother's embrace as she said her farewell. To the right of them, Círdan reached out and grasped Fingon's shoulder.

"He will be safe," he said. "You have my word that I will protect him, and raise him as best I can."

"Thank you," Fingon replied in a barely audible voice. Then, he turned and faced his son.

He must be strong for Ereinion, he thought to himself. He _must_ be strong.

The elfling's blue eyes were shining in the light, but not from tears. He was determined not to cry, and to act in a manner befitting a prince of the house of Finwë. To Ereinion's mind, this did _not_ mean crying in front of his parents and the lord of the Havens.

Not caring who was watching, the High King of the Noldor stepped forwards and picked his son up in his arms. The elfling rested his head on his father's shoulder, and put his arms around his neck.

When Fingon had returned after rescuing Maedhros from Thangorodrim, his father had held him fast in his arms, as though he never wanted to let him go. Now Fingon understood how that felt. He pressed his child to his heart, knowing that he would never see his son again, unless the Valar wished it to be otherwise.

"I love you," he said quietly to Ereinion. "No matter what happens, know that you have always been in my heart and you always will be. You are my _gil-galad_ and nothing will ever change that."

"I love you too, Father."

Fingon set his son on the ground. Círdan smiled, and beckoned to the young prince; together they walked towards the entourage that would take them back to the Havens. Fingon grasped his wife's hand; she squeezed back as if her life depended upon it.

Círdan assisted Ereinion onto a white horse and mounted behind him. Fingon watched as they disappeared over the hills and into the new day.

**Hope you liked it!**


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